The Musical Instrument

An ancient story is.... In India there are very refined instruments of music; nowhere else in the world has such refinement happened. Just one single man -- who lives in the Himalayas and comes once in a while to the plains -- plays a special veena which used to exist in the past. And many musicians used to play it, but now only one person knows how to play it. It is called rudra veena. Rudra is another name of Shiva; Shiva used to play it. To play it needs such a long discipline, four or five hours' practice every day for years; then only can you bring those subtle notes out of it.

The ancient story is that in one house there was a strange musical instrument which had been there for generations. Nobody knew what to do with it, and it was a nuisance. It had to be cleaned, dust would gather on it, and it was taking up space in the room. And sometimes in the middle of the night a rat would jump on it and create noise. Finally they decided, "It is useless for us; it is better to get rid of it." So they went out and threw it on the garbage pile by the side of the road.

They had not even reached back home and they heard such sweet music... they had never even imagined.

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So they turned back -- a beggar was playing the instrument, and a crowd had gathered. The beggar knew, he was a musician, but a musician of such old and ancient instruments that even to find people who could understand it was difficult, so there was no possibility for him to earn anything. He had become a beggar so that he could continue discovering old, ancient instruments about which we have completely forgotten.

And as he saw this instrument he could not believe it, because he had been in search of this instrument for years. There was utter silence in the crowd -- everybody who was passing on the road stopped. The people of the house came back, and when he stopped playing they said, "That instrument belongs to us."

The beggar said, "Remember one thing: a musical instrument belongs to one who knows how to play it, there is no other kind of ownership. You have thrown it in the garbage. You have insulted an immensely valuable thing.

"And what will you do with it? Again it will gather dust and you will have to clean it. Again rats will make noise in the night and disturb your sleep.

This instrument can be played only if one knows how to play a few other instruments. They are the steps, and this is the end, and I have been searching for it. All other instruments I have found, but this, the final instrument, was missing. You cannot claim ownership of it. "If you can play it here, before the crowd, it is yours. Otherwise, it belongs to me." Music is not property; it is art, it is love. It is devotion, it is prayer. You cannot possess it.

The same is my feeling about your being. You have it, but you don't possess it because you don't know how to play the instrument of your being. All that you know is the mind, which is only a vehicle; the heart, which is only a vehicle. But they are empty. Your thinking leads nowhere. Your heart remains at the point of lust, and never gets to know love. Search for your being and everything else will follow it on its own accord. You don't have to drop anything -- you cannot drop anything. They are your innermost qualities; they will radiate on their own. Your heart will be full of love; your mind will be full of intelligence.